


There’s a finite amount of terror a human being is capable of

by Toinette93



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Artillery bombardment, Carrying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Missions Gone Wrong, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Shell Shock, WW1 in space, War, Whumptober 2020, and late-19th century military theory, i've got you, quite literarily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toinette93/pseuds/Toinette93
Summary: "A shell exploded nearer, close, so close, too close, there was dirt all over him, and suddenly he understood the hole that was hiding him could just as well bury him alive."-Trip is stuck in the middle of industrial warfare. Will the crew of the Enterprise manage to get him out?
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III & Jonathan Archer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	There’s a finite amount of terror a human being is capable of

“Please, make it stop. Oh god, please.” Trip’s voice was hitching, his breath coming in gasps, tears running down his face, mixing with the mud of the hole he was desperately hiding in, trying to make his body disappear, trying to bury himself in the ground against the artillery fire. But it did not stop, and he could not go any deeper than the hole made by a previous shell he had found refuge in. The evidence of the destructive ability of the projectiles and the inadequacy of the protection the hole was providing was apparent in the scattered pieces of things that had one been living, sentient people. Their species, let alone the side they had belonged to in that war, was completely unrecognizable.

The noise was everywhere and it just did not stop. Pounding, and pounding, in its deadly symphony, each noise more discordant than the last, and Trip dared not put his hands on his ears to protect them, not that it would have done much, because the last time he had brought his hands to his head, he had touched something that did not fell quite right, squishy and warm, and he did not want to think about what it may be. Of course, every time a shell came nearer, his hands did go up, and then stopped, and that was enough to make him think… but at least he did not feel that squishy feeling and he could not feel that, would not feel that, and he would not open his eyes, even if they burnt, and he had to flee but he could not move, the shells would kill him, they’d killed everyone else. He did not want to die, he could not die, not know, not here, not on a stupid mission that had gone horribly wrong, he couldn’t die, he hadn’t finished…

A shell exploded nearer, close, so close, too close, there was dirt all over him, and suddenly he understood the hole that was hiding him could just as well bury him alive. He whimpered and noticed he had started to tremble lightly, his knees had reflexively come to his chest and his hands were clawing at whatever was in front of him. He had to escape, but he couldn’t, and the shells only seemed to be getting nearer.

* * *

There was a noise, different from the others, but he did not hear it. The call of his communicator, Hoshi had pierced through the interference, efficient and creative as ever, but he did not hear it. The shells were pounding, his mind was reeling and he could not hear anything, would not hear anything, as dirt was covering his blond head, adding to the grime that was already there.

* * *

“Enterprise to Commander Tucker, come in, Commander. Commander, come in.” Hoshi turned to Archer. “I’m sorry sir, his com is active, but he isn’t answering.” Archer bent over Hoshi’s station, trying to see if there was something wrong there. Hoshi let him, not only because he was the captain, but also that she knew it was not from lack of confidence in her abilities. She knew that the idea that something truly bad might have happened to Trip was one Archer did not want to contemplate.

“Enterprise to Tucker” he said, “Archer to Tucker, come in.” The gazes of everyone on the bridge were drawn towards Hoshi’s station, and to the captain, bent over it. “Trip, come in. Trip, dammit, it’s Jonathan, come in.” Hoshi’s hand touched Archer’s arm, and the captain moved away from the console, his head to the ground “Keep trying, Hoshi”

“Yes, sir.”

Archer turned towards the tactical station.

“Malcolm, still no luck with the transporter?”

“No, sir.”

“Keep at it. T’Pol, any life signs?”

“Impossible to determine with certainty at this distance and with this amount of interference, captain, but the readings I am getting seem to suggest Mr. Tucker is indeed alive. The sensor logs confirm he has managed to escape before the shuttlepod was destroyed, and it did not seem he was injured at that point. But he has since then been in the middle of an artillery barrage and his chances of survival in this circumstances are not promising.”

“I know that, T’Pol. I know.” answered Archer, an almost plaintive tone to his voice, and he resorted to pacing, and standing behind his helmsman who was keeping the ship in orbit.

None of this should have happened. They’d been surveying an M-class planet that had some unusual atmospheric readings, and having detected traces of a massive armed conflict, had decided to refrain from going down to meet people, limiting themselves to sending a pod on the other side of the planet to triangulate some readings and test some new developments of their sensor array in the unusual upper atmosphere. Trip had gone alone, it was not a complicated mission. Then the shuttle had malfunctioned, navigation went crazy, no way for Trip to know where he was going, and so he had gone down, managed to land, but the shuttle was destroyed by something. Something that had ended up being artillery fire. Strong enough to leave nothing of the pod that Trip had thankfully left to check what was wrong with it just in time. Turned out he had landed in the middle of a battlefield, in the no man’s land, right when an artillery barrage was being undertaken, probably as preparation for some sort of attack. Now, Trip wasn’t answering his com, and Archer might just lose his chief engineer, one of his closest friends, on a mission that they could as easily have opted out of. That he shouldn’t have authorized.

“Captain. I believe I have an explanation concerning our inability to get a lock on Commander Tucker with the transporter.”

T’Pol’s voice. Archer turned to her.

“Go ahead, T’Pol.”

Some sort of disturbance, was the gist of it, the combined effect of the artillery shots and the unusual phenomena they had already noticed in the atmosphere. It was strongest almost exactly on Trip’s position, but with a homing beacon to strengthen the signal – “yes sir, I’ll have it ready in five minutes” answered Hess’s tense voice from engineering, worried for her commanding officer – and provided Trip could move 100 meters, they should be able to beam him up. But despite Hoshi’s repeated attempt, Trip wasn’t responding. At least T’Pol had been able to confirm he was alive, for now, but he would not stay that way for long. There was a possibility but… The density of projectile being fired in the area was extremely high. It was almost a kill-zone, Archer could not send someone there…

“I’ll go, captain.”

Malcolm had apparently come to the same conclusions as Archer as to the only way to get Trip out of there. Archer wasn’t surprised the lieutenant was volunteering. Trip was his friend, too, and despite the fact that some of the MACOs might have been better suited for that particular job, Archer knew Malcolm would never order somebody else on a mission that dangerous if he could do it himself. Archer knew, because the exact same thoughts were crossing his mind about the proposition of his armory officer. He should be the one to go. Predictably, that idea did not go well with the lieutenant.

“With all due respect, sir, I’ve got the appropriate training. You don’t. I have better chances to succeed and bring Commander Tucker to safety, and I have the field medic training to administer first aid, should the commander be injured. I should be the one to go, sir.”

If the time had not been that pressing, Archer might have argued, but he knew Malcolm was right. He just hated to have to give that order. This rescue mission was an extremely dangerous one, and Archer did not want to risk losing both Trip and Malcolm. But he did not have much of a choice. He nodded.

“How do you propose we proceed, Lieutenant?”

* * *

Archer, Phlox and Reed were at the transporter room. Archer was at the transporter console, while Reed was checking his bags and pockets, making sure he had everything. Weapons: a phaser and a knife, definitely not quite regulation-issue. He’d need it if he ended up having to fight in close-quarters, the phaser would bring too much attention. Communicator, tricorder, two beacons and something to monitor his life signs. He’d beam down as close to Trip as possible, probably between 100 and 200 meters away from him. As long as he was within transporter range, they’d get him out if his life signs showed he was unconscious. He’d agreed but made sure they wouldn’t beam him up for any other reason unless he asked for it. If what he was going into was as hellish as the scans seem to indicate, his life signs were going to be going crazy from the stress alone. He checked the med kit. Basic with extra painkillers, stimulants and sedatives, depending in what state he’d find Trip in. And a strong blanket with straps and a handle, to drag Trip, should the engineer be incapable to move. Phlox had lectured him on the steps and precautions to be taken, his face unusually grim.

“Bring both of you back alive, lieutenant, hmm?” He’d said, and the slightly over-large smile that had animated his features hadn’t quite managed to seem as joyful as it usually was.

Archer had just nodded and squeezed Malcolm’s arm, worried, earnest and still hopeful green eyes meeting determined grey ones.

“I’ll bring him back, captain.”

“Ready Malcolm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Energize”

* * *

Malcolm rematerialized and immediately got down, trying to make himself a smaller target. The noise was like nothing he’d ever heard before, and he’d been through his fair share of explosions and firefight in atmosphere. White smoke masked part of the landscape which was probably for the best. Malcolm did not know what the place had looked like before the fighting began, nor how long it had lasted for, but at the moment it certainly did not look Minshara-class. There were craters all over, and dirt was flowing as explosion after explosion rocked the terrain. Some remain of a tree was burning, already mostly reduced to embers, and in the horizon, Malcolm noticed barbed wire with an almost comically deformed corpse hanging from it. Malcolm looked at his tricorder. Not the direction Trip was in. He sighed in relief.

Focus he told himself, as another shell exploded to his right. He got his communicator out, and sent the agreed-upon signal, saying that transport had been successful, then, following his tricorder reading which told him in what direction Trip was, he started to crawl, as fast as he could. He just had to be fast. No one was targeting him, no one on the planet even knew he was there, there would be no rime or reason to his death, and the only thing that would save him was to stay here as little time as possible. It wasn’t particularly cold, but the mud was seeping in his clothes, the earth seeming to want to eat him alive, and the half destroyed but still visibly non-human corpse he saw apparently drowned in a puddle brought shivers down his spine. His tricorder beeped. He was out of transporter range. He kept going. There was a big hole in front of him, and his readings told him he was there, closer to the transporter range than he thought he would be. Just a few meters to go and he would be at Trip’s side, although he couldn’t see him at the moment.

Then there was an explosion, much closer than the previous ones, and he was thrown into the hole. He fell on his shoulder, hard, and could not stop a cry at the pain. He could feel blood going down his shoulder, but he was still conscious, and he could still move. His heart was beating so hard he thought it would escape his chest. Then he heard the sound of crying, to his right. Trip. This had to be Trip. He’d found him. He made his way towards the sound, crawling. There was a trembling form, clawing at the ground, covered in dirt, and blood, and, was that…? Yes, but the wrong color, hopefully not his, hopefully not Trip’s insides smeared all over him, hopefully somebody else’s. The open communicator, Hoshi’s voice still coming from it, was the sure tell this was Trip. Malcolm signaled that he’d found him.

* * *

There’s these noises again, and there’s more of this mud on me and some of it was warm and now is going cold, it wasn’t mud, at all, it was something else, Trip was thinking, circularly, unable to get his mind out of the loop. If he could make another hole a deeper hole, he could hide in the ground, and maybe the ground would eat him but maybe he would be safe, and if he weren’t, maybe it just would stop, and if it could just stop, it wouldn’t be so bad, he just wanted to sleep, and then maybe he’d wake up on the Enterprise, and this all thing would have been just a nightmare. It wasn’t a nightmare, though, he knew it was real, and he was going to die here, the only question was how long it would be and how much it would hurt and he did not want to die, he did not want to be buried alive here, oh god! Then there was another explosion, he felt himself being covered in dirt again, pieces of rocks grazing his skin, and he did not seem to care all that much anymore. His body was still trembling and crying and curling up on itself but he almost couldn’t feel anymore.

* * *

“Commander Tucker. Trip, can you hear me?”

Despite the readings from the medical tricorder telling him Trip wasn’t physically injured and was conscious, Malcolm did not seem to be able to get him to acknowledge him or even open his stubbornly closed eyes. The wound on his own arm was starting to sting, and although the quick reading he’d given himself said it wasn’t particularly severe, it still bled quite a bit despite the pressure bandage he’d put on it and it would make carrying Trip a lot more difficult. Well, there was nothing to it. He’d have to make do, because Trip was obviously in some sort of shock, and he needed to get him out of here, fast. His hands trembling from the sheer amount of adrenaline that was coursing through his veins Malcolm unfolded the blanket on the ground. Then as the explosions seemed at least to be moving further away, he crawled back towards Trip, and moved to carry him onto the blanket. Malcolm had his hands on Trip’s shoulder when the engineer’s eyes suddenly opened, filled with terror, and the hands that had been clawing aimlessly at the air grabbed the lieutenant’s shoulder in a vice, painful on the wounded flesh. The earth shook from a thankfully far-away but powerful explosion. Malcolm took Trip in his arm, got him on the blanket but did not immediately let go.

“Trip, it’s me, it’s Malcolm.”

Trip’s hand was aiming at his own face now, but not quite going there. Malcolm took a better look at Trip’s face, beyond the terrified blue eyes, and at the alien blood and entrails that were smearing the blond hair.

“It’s not yours, Trip, you’re ok, I’ve got you. I’m gonna get you out of there.”

He needed to get Trip to relax, there was no way he was going to be able to carry him otherwise, and the barrage getting further away might just be temporary. Or it could mean an assault was about to be launched and that would be very, very bad news. So he got his water out of his bag, and with a piece of cloth, cleaned the alien entrails and blood off of Trip’s face, then, as an afterthought, got him to drink some of the water. Trip stopped struggling, and his look while still full of confusion, had lost some of the abject terror that had filled it a few minutes earlier. Each exploding noise still made all his frame tense, however, and Malcolm knew there was no way he was going to move on his own. He’d have to carry him. Bloody hell.

He carefully laid him down on the blanket, closing it down, reassuring him as best he could, but even in that state, Trip trusted him, and the open, almost child-like expression on his friend’s face only strengthened Malcolm’s resolve. There had always been something of a kid left in Trip Tucker, which alternatively annoyed and amused Malcolm depending on his own mood, and made him want to keep him out of harm’s way, something the universe had so far spectacularly failed at.

Staying as near the ground as he possibly could, Malcolm started to drag Trip across the battlefield, stubbornly ignoring the growing pain in his shoulder. It wasn’t far. The artillery fire had quieted down. They would get out of there. More than once, he fell, or dropped his charge. The terrain was anything but smooth, yet he kept on going. Finally, his beacon beeped, signaling he was in transporter range. He dropped down next to Trip, collecting him in his arms to protect him from the now occasional shell going through the air, and contacted the ship. Hoshi answered, and a few long seconds later, he felt the now increasingly familiar and oddly comforting tingle of the transporter.

* * *

Archer watched anxiously as the form of his two officers rematerialized on the transporter platform. He saw Malcolm holding Trip, both covered in mud, and probably blood. Phlox and the medical team rushed towards them, and quickly got Trip on a stretcher. At a sign from the doctor, Archer got nearer, and helped Malcolm up. He noticed the bandage on his officer’s arm, bled through, and against the lieutenant’s protest that he was fine – belied by the paleness of his face and the wobble of his gait – put a hand around him on his good side, and helped him to walk to sickbay. He stood at the back of the room, letting the doctor do his job. Phlox quickly assured him neither of his officers was in danger, Malcolm’s injury was minor, and he could be out of sickbay in a couple of hours and back on duty in a couple of days. Trip wasn’t physically injured, he had fallen asleep, once back on the ship and out of the grime of his torn uniform, and Phlox was confident he’d recover from his experience with a little bit of therapy and time.

Archer thanked Phlox, told him to comm him as soon as Trip was awake, and then went to express his gratitude to Malcolm, squeezing his good shoulder, earnest and relieved green eyes looking into equally relieved if somewhat troubled grey ones, and as before the mission, the lieutenant just nodded. He understood, but Archer still said it out loud

“Thank you, Malcolm, for getting him back. Get better.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

It was a few hours later, and Archer was on the bridge, looking at the stars. They had left that planet behind. Hoshi told him Phlox had commed, signaling that Trip was awake. He immediately made his way to sickbay and a look at his bridge crew told him that their chief engineer would not lack visitors as soon as any of them went off shift.

When he walked in, Trip was propped up on a bio-bed, looking a lot better than he had a few hours earlier, even if his eyes still had a haunted quality to it that might take quite a bit longer to correct than the dirt, blood and grime had. Trip wasn’t alone, Malcolm, arm in a sling, was already seated next to him, apparently on his way out from sickbay to his quarters. The chief engineer smiled at something Malcolm said, then the lieutenant voice went more serious, his hand resting on the engineer’s arm.

“I’m glad you made it out alive, Commander. I’m sure Hess is checking what we recovered of the logs to determine what went wrong with the shuttle. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Well there ain’t anythin left of the shuttle to crash anymore, now, is there, Mal?” then more seriously “You took one hell of a risk to get me outta, there Malcolm. How many times have you saved my life already?” And before Malcolm could answer anything. “Hey there cap’n.” At that, Malcolm turned, gave a brief nod of a salute, and made his way out, promising Trip a meal together when he was released from sickbay.

“How are you doing, Trip?” asked Archer, sitting in the chair Malcolm had vacated, his tone serious. Trip took a moment to answer, thinking his words through.

“It...it was bad out there cap’n. I thought… well, it’s a good thing Malcolm got there when he did. It’s gonna take me a while to get it out of my head. But I’ll be alright.”

Archer nodded. He believed him. Since the time in the Expanse, Trip had been through so much, and he’d always made it through, had even learnt how to ask for help somewhere along the way. It would take time. But he’d be ok. And so Archer started talking to his friend, about water-polo results and ship gossip, and odd noises in his quarters, bringing him back to his usual life, sensing that was what his friend needed right now, and soon that smile looked a bit more sincere.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there folks!  
> Hope you enjoyed my foray into whumptober territory. I have no idea if that's how you supposed to do it (and I won't do the 31 prompts, I'm not a fast enough writer for that, also I just saw the thing and we're already mid-october), but hey, I had fun, hope you did too.  
> For the music inspiration part: Sabaton, Great War  
> Nothing like a bit of metal to get the creative juices going  
> As for the late 19th century military theory,the title of this thing is a quote from Charles Ardant du Picq's Etudes sur le combat (Studies on Battle) published in 1880 after the death of the author during the Franco-Prussian war in 1870. The original quote is: "L'homme n'est capable que d'une quantité donnée de terreur". It's a fascinating book if not the easiest to follow that takes into account the pychological aspect of war and fear as a central thing to take into account to understand war.  
> Come talk to me in the comments, they make me very happy.  
> Take care out there people  
> LLAP  
> Toinette, out.


End file.
